


Hot Mess

by ladydragon76



Series: AU Yeah AUgust (in December) [25]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 08:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17158661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: Summary:A mission goes bad, Jazz needs a little punishment.  Ratchet needs to give it.





	Hot Mess

**Author's Note:**

> **'Verse:** G1  
>  **Series:** AU Yeah August (in December)  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Ratchet/Jazz  
>  **Warnings:** BDSM, Sticky  
>  **Notes:** I'm sure you all remember AU Yeah AUgust, yeah? Well, I was crocheting and didn't have time to try to write like I wanted, so I decided to move it to December. I have chosen some other prompts to replace some on the original list so as to avoid the ones I'm not into, but I do hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> 25\. Friends With Benefits

The mission hadn't gone entirely to plan, and Mirage had been hurt. Jazz hovered as Ratchet worked on the slender spy, the medic deftly removing the field patches Jazz had applied so Mirage wouldn't bleed out before they got back to the _Ark_. It felt like it took forever, both the return trip and the repairs, though Jazz knew when Ratchet was sure Mirage would be alright. It was in the medic's frame, and Jazz felt his own plating loosen a bit in relief.

On the heels of that relief came the guilt. Logic had no place here. Jazz knew that Mirage was more than capable, one of the best of the best, second only to Jazz himself and with the benefit of his electro-disruptor. Shit just went pear-shaped sometimes. Nature of the game. Mirage had just been unlucky.

But the guilt didn't care about any of that. Mirage was hurt while Jazz was fine.

 _It shoulda been me_ , Jazz thought despite knowing that wasn't how it worked.

When he was finally done, Ratchet cleaned up, letting Swoop get Mirage settled in a more private room to rest. Jazz edged in closer to Ratchet. He _needed_. He would lay money on Ratchet _needing_ as well.

"After your debriefing?" Ratchet asked quietly.

Jazz nodded and left. He had time for a wash before the meeting with Prowl, and he needed it.

~ | ~

"I think some pain tonight," Ratchet said, and Jazz saw the shock stick as it was lifted out of Ratchet's 'toy box'.

"Yeah. Bit o' force would be nice."

Ratchet finished gathering supplies and moved from his berth to the table to lay them out. There were cuffs, the shock stick, rope, the flog- which was one of Jazz's favorites because it was unpredictable in regards to just where each line would strike, and the ends of those lines each held an exposed bit of wire. It wasn't as strong as the shock stick, but it could give a nice little snap of electrified pain. The cane was out too, which made Jazz have to suppress a shiver. And finally, there was already energon on the table, but that was definitely for after. They never played together anything but stone-cold sober, and that mild highgrade was still highgrade.

"Ready to start?" Ratchet asked and turned toward Jazz.

Was he, Jazz thought and drifted toward the middle of the room where they usually began a scene. "Yeah."

An optic ridge arched up as Jazz merely stood there. "Kneel then," Ratchet ordered and walked over to stand in front of Jazz as he obeyed.

Another moment passed, and this time when Ratchet spoke, his voice was tighter. "Visor. Collar."

Again, Jazz obeyed. He reached up and nudged the bottom edge of the visor, a wholly unneeded action since retracting it was an internal command. Then he lowered his hand and pulled the collar from his subspace. It was presented on both palms as required, but golly gosh, he was just so tired, he couldn't get his hands as high as he was supposed to, making his master have to bend down to take it. The collar was snatched up, and Ratchet made a wide step to stand behind Jazz. The collar was whipped around the front of Jazz's neck and neatly caught on that first try. Jazz huffed a bit of a laugh as Ratchet pulled it across the front of his neck just a _little_ too hard to be comfortable.

"I know what you're doing," Ratchet said, his voice carrying the weight of a warning.

"What's that?" Jazz asked and turned his head to look back and up with his most innocent smile.

The back of a red hand flew and struck Jazz's cheek hard enough to snap his head around and knock him off balance. "You forgot a word there, little toy."

"Which word?" Jazz asked, knowing full well he was asking for it, but really- he was _begging_ for it. So he really shouldn't have been so surprised when Ratchet lashed out again, but this time those deft medic's fingers hit a nerve cluster which dropped Jazz like a sack of potatoes and onto his face.

Good thing he'd retracted the visor.

"You sure this is the game you want to play with me tonight?" Ratchet growled next to Jazz's audial. "Be _very_ sure, little toy."

Jazz's spark skipped up in tempo, and he felt heat pool low. "What game?"

There was a click and sizzle, and then fire lit up Jazz's body as the shock stick was shoved into the gap between his lateral chest seams just above his hip. A scream caught in his throat, and he gritted his teeth against letting it escape. He wasn't going down that easily. Unfortunately, his motor control was still gone, and once Ratchet had satisfied his momentary wrath, Jazz's master moved back and out came the stasis cuffs. The moment the second cuff locked, a hum of current ran though Jazz's frame and left him even more of a heap on the floor. He wished he could turn his head just a little so his nose wasn't crushed into the decking.

"I know you know better," Ratchet said, the growl still in his voice. He was fragged off, and Jazz was going to take the brunt of it. He would have shivered in anticipation had his body been capable of even that small movement. "But," the medic's tone became a purr as he leaned back down by Jazz's audial horn, "I do so enjoy beating the failure out of you. I'm pretty sure I'll never succeed, but try, try again."

Jazz heard the soft swish of the flog and wished he could squirm, shiver, something to break the tension as Ratchet circled him. A foot caught and shoved against Jazz's side and he flopped to his back like a discarded rag doll. Above him, Ratchet reached up and pulled down a hook attached to a cable from the ceiling, and then that hook caught the cable that linked Jazz's cuffs. A silent signal, and the winch activated, dragging Jazz's limp form up to about kneeling height- not that his legs did anything but spread and drag uselessly on the floor. The ache began in his wrists, elbows, and shoulders almost immediately as his full weight hung from the cuffs.

Ratchet leaned in over him, the handle of the flog tipping Jazz's head up enough for their gazes to meet. Optics dim, the aqua of them darkened in anger, narrowed at Jazz. "We'll start with manners and go from there. Just shout the word out when you finally remember it."

His master was a demon, Jazz knew, and the thin tendrils of the flog were expertly placed to snap and bite at tender substructures and his protoform again and again and again. Jazz refused to even cycle his vents in his effort to hold back even the slightest sound as stinging became actual pain became _fire_ gnawing along his circuits and sensors. He sank into himself, absorbed the blows, rode the surges of bright agony.

A hard, open-handed slap, jolted Jazz back to the here and now, and he opened his optics to see his master glaring down on him again. "None of that slag, you worthless scrap." Jazz was struck again with a red hand, then the flog was set aside and the slim, whip-like cane was picked up.

There was no electricity this time, just the sharp bite of thin metal striping Jazz's plating in lines of acidic malice. His first cry burst from him as that bite slipped into the joint of his underarm.

"Say the word," Master purred, lips brushing Jazz's left audial horn.

"Master! Please!" Jazz gave over. Possibly too easily, but his master was not happy, and thus the punishment wasn't even close to over.

An approving rumble sounded, and then the cane swished through the air, delivering stunning torment with each strike. Jazz couldn't help shouting now, the world narrowed down to the rhythm of that pain, and he both anticipated and feared the moment it would break. He did have a while to savor it, but all too soon, it did end.

Master's hand brushed over the lines he'd drawn on Jazz's frame, light and igniting the pain afresh. "What did you do wrong?"

"Mm-master..." Jazz said, vocalizer giving a thin, unintended whine. "Pushed. Tested, master."

The delicate tip of the crop brushed down Jazz's side. "Haven't I trained you better than that?"

"Yes, master."

"And?" Master asked as he stepped behind Jazz, that crop trailing along.

"I'm sorry, master. I'll do better, master," Jazz panted, his chin on his chest. He could see the score marks across the white of his plating and his vents heaved. He could feel how the excess heat wafted off of him.

A sudden strike to his panel made Jazz yelp. "I want that open," Master ordered.

"I can't, master," Jazz whimpered. He still couldn't move, still had no control over his frame.

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't, master, but I will!" Jazz hurried to say. "If you gave me back-" He cut off on a scream as that crop whipped, full-force this time, against the seam of his array panel.

"Are you trying to tell _me_ what to do?" Master growled.

"No! No, master!"

"I think I'm done with this nonsense," Master said, and Jazz keened as the warm presence at his back vanished. Master strode away, past Jazz to the table where the other tools were. The flog and shock stick were picked up, and a cold bolt of a different sort of pain shot through Jazz.

"Master, please! I can't move to open it for you!" Jazz _wanted_ to obey. He was desperate to! He _needed_ that cane, that flog, that stick punishing him for all his many failures, and if his master wouldn't give them to him, he would drown in the guilt chewing away at his spark! A sob escaped, then another.

A gentle hand cupped Jazz's helm, and in the next moment his body buzzed with the return of motor control. "Kneel."

Jazz scrambled to obey. First that panel snapped open, and then, careful through his bleared vision and hitched sobs not to kick his master, he got his legs into position. Kneeling took the pressure off Jazz's arm joints, and once settled, he dared peek up at his master just a little, just enough to see those red hands. "Please?" he whispered when he caught sight of the crop.

"Do I not give you the punishments you want?" Master asked softly, the disappointment heavy in his field.

"Yes, master," Jazz whimpered, vents catching and liquid heat rolling down his cheeks and inner thighs.

"Then why would you choose to push when asking will get you everything you need?"

Because asking was so hard. Because saying why shredded him. Because anger was so much easier to take than this gentle disappointment and soft concern. "Please?" Jazz keened instead.

The crop settled sideways under Jazz's chin and forced him to look up. Master's optics were narrowed, but in consideration and thought, not anger. "Words, little toy, or I won't play with you."

"My fault," Jazz whispered. "Shouldn't'a let him go alone. Didn't know where Rav was. Should'a been with him. Should'a been me."

The cane swung before Jazz could brace himself, and then kept swinging. "Louder," Master demanded until Jazz screamed with each blow, then simply screamed until reality wandered off and time ceased to exist.

At some point the cane disappeared and heat pressed to Jazz's back. His array was nudged, and Jazz gasped hard enough to make his intakes feel scraped by the air. He shook, keening and whining as his master slid into him from behind.

"Master!"

"Not until I say," Master ordered.

Though through the fog of his own need, Jazz recognized that it wouldn't be a long wait. He arched his back more, hands turning to gasp the cable above him so he could brace against each firm thrust. There was a volcano under his plating, rising to drown his spark, but he pushed everything else aside- the fire of the strikes marring his plating, the swell of his own pleasure, everything, and let his focus narrow to the way his master's hands held him steady. Master's respiration came in fast gasps, a little sound or soft grunt accompanying each plunge. Jazz paid those sounds singular attention, bodying trembling, his own respiration all but held as he waited.

"Now," master murmured, and Jazz _shattered_.

~ | ~

"Don't move yet," Jazz heard, and let his frame relax against the soft surface of a berth. "Look at me, little pet," master crooned.

Jazz opened his optics, still feeling dazed, his whole frame a vortex of pain and pleasure and _relief_. "Master."

"Yes. I lost you there for a few minutes, sweets. How do you feel?" A cool cloth wiped down along Jazz's chest, stinging and soothing at once. Nanite gel.

"Better, master." Jazz wanted to stretch and before he could stop it, his frame decided that was exactly what was going to happen. His arms and legs pushed down even as his neck arched and a yawn stretched his jaw.

Ratchet arched an optic ridge as he waited, and Jazz offered a sleepy smile as his frame relaxed again. "Done?"

"Yes, master."

And now it was Ratchet's-master's turn. Jazz needed the time to relax before the collar came off too, and Ratchet needed the release of punishing Jazz, but the scene was _for_ Jazz. The aftercare was for Ratchet. And unlike in the medbay, where Jazz was often impatient to have his check-ups or repairs done so he could get done and out, this was time he enjoyed. He felt soft and warm and floaty, and Ratchet's field draped over his own. The guilt was still there, but right now it was quiescent, lost under feel-good and the sting of his recent flagellation.

Ratchet's hands moved over Jazz's frame, slowly and methodically, reassuring himself that Jazz was at least physically well after the punishment he'd doled out.

"Master?" Jazz asked and lifted a hand to touch warm, white plating when Ratchet seemed to have looked him over at least three times and started a fourth.

"Hm?"

"How do you feel, master?" Jazz asked, voice as sweet as he could make it sound without it ringing false or teasing. Ratchet usually didn't fuss quite so much, and Jazz knew that the few strikes which had drawn his blood were nothing and already healing.

To Ratchet's credit, he didn't answer right away, instead he set aside the pot of nanite gel and the used cleaning cloths before settling on the berth next to Jazz. "Ravage almost got too lucky." Gentle fingers stroked Jazz's helm, and Jazz fought back against the chill of fear. "Are you really ok, Jazz?"

Jazz tipped his head toward Ratchet to better expose the back of his neck and his collar's lock. Once Ratchet had reverently handed it back to him, and Jazz had put it away, he snuggled in closer to his friend and nodded. "I am. It was worth the risk to split up, even though we weren't a hundred percent sure about Rav's whereabouts. Time was against us. Mirage just got unlucky, and like ya said, Rav got lucky. Sniffed Raj out, and I only got there just in time ta see the rocket fired." A moment's pause, and Jazz looked up to meet Ratchet's gaze. "He's ok, yeah?"

"Yeah. He's fine. I wouldn't have left the medbay if he was at all at risk." Ratchet smiled a little. "Which you know, or you'd never have knelt for me."

"True."

"Gonna stay and keep me company tonight?" Ratchet asked and squirmed a bit to fit better on his own berth.

Jazz grinned, knowing that was as close to asked to stay he was going to get from everyone's favorite harridan medic. "Yeah. Bet I'm marked up pretty good. Prob'ly shouldn't roam the halls lookin' like I took a lickin'. Might scare the natives."

Ratchet snickered and looped an arm around Jazz's middle. "Can't have that. Good night, Jazz."

"Night, Ratch." Jazz waited a moment, but he knew Ratchet wasn't cycling down just yet, so he began to hum quietly, some nameless tune that didn't take any skill. He kept at it until Ratchet's vents began to rattle a little bit and his frame was heavier where it rested against Jazz. "Sweet dreams," Jazz whispered after allowing the song to trail off, then he let himself sink away too.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to know more [About Me](https://ladydragon76.dreamwidth.org/334490.html)?


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